Aprons

I wear an apron when I bake – It used to be my mother’s. I like that old connection, ‘cause I could be wearing others. For many years you couldn’t find An apron anywhere, Except a plain old white one, Lacking kitschiness or flair. When I was younger, housewives had A kitchen-y collection; The aprons then were purposeful, Not objects of affection. But now in stores, they’re back in stock In patterns most delightful. A yearning back to simpler times? Although that sounds insightful, I think it’s just a retro thing – To see the past as cool; Yet batter-spattered aprons prove The wearer is no fool!